The men on the other side of the glass watched me in horror.
I knew I wasn't me—
but something more.
Something ancient.
The language pouring out of my mouth, rolling off my tongue like it came from the heavens that brought me to this hell, wouldn't stop.
No matter how much I cried,
No matter how much I tried,
The men on the other side of the glass loaded their guns and began to open the door.
Two weeks before the incident:
"Welcome to the aquarium." Fred glanced back at me with a smirk. "You'll work with the lionfish and jellies. I know your résumé mentions dolphins and sharks, but I want to test your skills and character first."
"Yes, sir. I don't mind. I just want to start as soon as possible."
I picked up the bucket next to me and my clipboard. This was my dream job—my whole reason for spending five years on this broke part of island, Puerto Rico, now filling up with idiotic tourists. I sighed. Be an adult. Deal with it.
I looked back at my boss after checking the clipboard. "Sir, we have three lionfish tanks?"
Fred rubbed a hand through his hair. "The lionfish we have are… temperamental." He chuckled. "The last guy who found that out ended up in the hospital."
I shuffled my feet. Great. My boss is one of those weirdos.
"He's fine," Fred added. "Kinda. Won't be coming in for a longggggg while."
"Just great," I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "What was that, Lily?"
I shook my head. "Nothing, sir. Now—the tanks?"
"Right this way, ma'am. And watch your step."
He led me down a corridor to the back room for the lionfish. Rows of tanks filled the center of the space. A fridge sat in the corner next to a small kitchen sink with a cutting board.
"This is nice. I like the wallpaper," I said, doing my best to make small talk. I really, really, wanted this job.
Fred smiled. "Thanks. My wife decorated this room."
I looked into the tanks, checking temperatures and salt levels like the introduction sheet on my clipboard said. Then I checked the fridge. It was disgusting—clearly never cleaned. Dried blood puddled under the drawers.
I gagged.
No. I am an adult, I told myself. I am a—
I gagged again.
Fred burst out laughing. "Not used to fish guts?"
I glared at him. Only for a second. Customer service first. Mask your feelings.
I forced a smile. "No. More like… not used to an uncleaned fridge."
The rest of the shift went smoothly. Fred showed me the lionfish and jellies and introduced me to the rest of the staff.
At closing, everyone packed up their gear and locked up. The shark diver walked over and handed me an aquarium pen.
"Thanks, Max!" I gave him my best customer service smile. "Much appreciated."
He nodded. "The pens are made with the worst ink here. Keep a couple on hand. The ink's waterproof, though, so I guess there's that."
"Noted. Will do. Thanks for the tip."
I drove home after talking to Max and Fred. It turns out Max is Fred's nephew. Small world.
When I opened the door to my house, the smell of hot pot filled my nose, and my stomach growled. I was so hungry and tired.
"Grandma!" I yelled while taking off my shoes. "Are you cooking Hujima again?"
"You know it, dear! Just sit down, and I'll get you a bowl."
I sat, and my cat jumped into my lap. "Hey, Lucy. How are you?"
He just purred, hoping to get a bite of my dinner along with his pets.
"No cats at the table. Lily, you know better."
"Yes, ma'am." I sighed. "Alright, Lou—go on."
He looked unhappy but hopped down anyway.
"How was your day?" Grandma asked. "Did you enjoy your first day back at the aquarium?"
"Gran, it was better when Gramps ran it."
"Oh? Oh dear—Freddy is that bad, huh?"
"Gran, let me tell you."
I told her about my day, about Max, about Fred and the fridge, and about the untamed lionfish.
Gran laughed hard at that. "Gramps could have done so much better." She smiled and nodded, but her eyes said something different. They were filled with sorrow—tears forming at the corners but held back by pride and the kind of self-preservation that buries things like a dead man in a coffin.
"Well," she said softly, "tell him when he comes home."
I thanked Grandma for the meal, cleaned up the kitchen, and locked up for the night. I slipped under my covers and watched the moonlight dance with the clouds as it shone through my window. Lucy slept at my feet. My eyes grew heavy. Sleep called.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
My eyes snapped open. What was that?
Lucy's fur stood on end, ears pinned back toward the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I looked toward the glass. Something was throwing seashells at my window.
I slipped out of the covers and walked toward the window slowly.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I peeked out. Nobody. But, seashells lay scattered across the roof.
I opened the window slowly, and a faint melody drifted in. Melancholy—like a woman crying for something she never owned. Like a mother realizing she can not control her child. Like a lonely, pitiful wail. A song I had heard before.
Déjà vu hit me, and memories flooded in. My mother and I. I don't remember much—just broken bottles and blood scattered across the floor. I'm running outside into the bitter cold. Cold. Wet snow. Wet. Cold.
I opened my eyes and realized: I was cold and wet. Scratch that—I was freezing. I'm soaked to the bone. The moon shone brightly above me, lighting everything around me. Waves gently rolled by.
I was standing on a sandbar in the ocean.
Fifteen minutes from the shore.
Thirty minutes from my house.